


Apologies Through Contact

by PippinTheRenegade



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Depression, Enjoltaire Week 2016, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, exr week 2016, prompt: embrace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PippinTheRenegade/pseuds/PippinTheRenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire usually doesn't take their discussions so seriously, but he stormed out after the last one and disappeared. Enjolras hasn't seen him in three days and assumes the worst. Frantic to find his partner, he's checking every place he can think of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apologies Through Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Happy ExR Week everybody!

"Has anyone seen Grantaire?"

Joly held the apartment door open, blinking up at a very concerned Enjolras. There had been no greeting, no hello, just frantic knocking and a hurriedly asked question. Seeing Enjolras this distressed- his hair a mess of flyaway curls and his brow creased with worry- was a new sight, and not a welcome one. Their leader did not usually show his stress so plainly, and that sparked a wave of concern in Joly.

"Would you like to sit down?" he asked, nodding toward an empty spot on the couch. Bossuet threw the blanket occupying most of the cushion onto the back of the sofa and patted the seat, though he kept his eyes fixed on Enjolras as well.

Enjolras shook his head. "If he's not here and you don't know where he is, I have to go," he said, turning away quickly to head back down the stairs.

Joly caught him by the arm. "Try that again," he muttered, his grip strong and oddly commanding. "Enjolras, sit down. You look like death, and I cannot let you run off in good conscience. Come in, and explain a minute?"

Slowly, hesitantly, Enjolras relaxed and followed Joly's gentle tug on his arm. "Just a minute," he said, casting another look toward the stairwell before allowing himself to be settled into the couch. Joly patted his shoulder and went to make tea; Bossuet laid a reassuring hand on his knee.

"Why do you need to find Grantaire?" Bossuet asked, his voice soft and low, and he rubbed his thumb in circles on Enjolras' leg. "Did you two-"

"Fight?" The word came out cracked, and Enjolras stared through the pile of magazines on the coffee table, his features twisted with distress. "Not more than usual. We were talking, and it got a little heated. Things would be fine if we just breathed for a minute, but Grantaire stormed out and... and..." He ran a nervous hand through his curls, pulling a few more strands loose from what was left of his ponytail. "I haven't seen him in three days, Boss. No one has!"

Joly shoved some papers aside to set down a mug of tea, then perched on the arm of the couch. "No one?" he repeated, clutching his own warm cup in his hands. He had not heard from Grantaire for a while, but that wasn't entirely unusual; Grantaire had a habit of dropping contact when he was busy or felt too low to concentrate on anything.

Enjolras shook his head.

Joly nodded. "Where all have you checked for him?"

"His apartment first." Enjolras started through the mental list. "I don't think he's been home. The Musain. Corinthe. Eponine's house. Bahorel said he hasn't been to the gym all week. Ferre and Courf haven't seen him either. Jehan is checking with some of his artist friends, and Baz is looking through a few spots on the other side of town. I came here because he crashes on your couch sometimes, but that's not what he did, and I don't know where else to look."

He grew more frantic the longer the list became until his voice broke again and he gasped. Enjolras leaned against Bossuet's shoulder, trying to catch his breath again. "He might be gone," he choked out as Boss shifted to pull him into a hug. "He might be dead in a gutter somewhere, and it's my fault, and I won't ever see him again."

Joly sighed through his nose. "That's not a helpful line of thought, and you know it," he said, keeping his biting tone to a minimum. "I've known Grantaire longer than you have, Enjolras. He's an idiot, and, yeah, things can get bad when his mood drops, but he's not THAT much of an idiot. I'm sure he's fine."

"And if he's not?" Enjolras rounded on Joly, and the fear in his eyes was enough to make the med student flinch. "If he's hurt or lost or gone forever, what am I supposed to-"

A loud buzz on his leg made Enjolras jump. By the second one, he realized it was his phone, and he fumbled his way into his pocket. Bahorel's smiling face flashed at him before he answered the call. "Baz?"

"Found him."

The knot in Enjolras' chest slowly started to come undone, though his heart still beat out a painful tattoo against his ribs. "Is he okay?"

"He's alive, if that's any help. I think he's been plastered since you saw him last. Good news is he won't be moving unless I carry him out of here. You should come down, though."

Enjolras swallowed thickly. "Where is here?"

"I'm texting you the address right now." The phone buzzed against his jaw. "See you when you get here, Enj."

Enjolras dropped his hand, staring down at the screen until he could focus enough to make out the buttons again. His thumb grazed the new text, and he read over the address twice before he registered where this place was. He could get there in twenty minutes, fifteen if he hurried. "I have to go," he murmured at last, prying Bossuet's hand off his shoulder.

"We should come, too," Joly offered, but Enjolras waved him off.

"Bahorel is with him," he said, pushing off the couch and moving toward the door. "I'll bring him by once I have him back." Enjolras paused by the doorway a moment, glancing back to meet the gazes of a worried Bossuet and concerned Joly. "And thank you for the tea. I'll be back for it."

* * *

 

The little bar that belonged to the address Bahorel had given him was so much of a hole-in-the-wall that Enjolras wasn't sure it actually had a name. The air just inside the doorway nearly choked him on the smell of smoke and the heat of bodies in a small space. He tried not to maintain eye contact with any one person for too long. He sought out the bartender and gave a brief description of his friends; the man pointed him in the direction of a door on the back wall. Enjolras thanked him quickly and pushed through the crowd.

The door swung open at his touch, and he shut it behind him, thankful for the muffle it provided. Several tables stood empty in the back room except the one in the far corner. Bahorel had taken the seat beside Grantaire, his voice a low, encouraging rumble and a glass of water in his hand. The artist looked worse for wear, still in the clothes he had been wearing when he had stormed out. If anything, he had probably come straight here and hadn't moved since.

"Grantaire," Enjolras breathed, crossing the room with long, hurried strides. Grantaire glanced away from Bahorel for a moment, a flash of panic crossing his features. He tried to move away and only succeeded in scooting closer to Baz.

Enjolras nearly collapsed into him, the aching tangle of worry in his chest finally breaking loose and taking most of his energy with it. Grantaire was safe. He was alive, and he smelled like smoke and sweat and five kind of alcohol, but he was all in one piece. Enjolras wrapped his arms tightly around his partner and buried his face in the crook of the artist's neck and just breathed for the first time since he had realized Grantaire was more than avoiding him.

"Apollo, I'm sorry, I-" Grantaire's words still slurred with the after-effects of his drink. Enjolras thumped him on the shoulder, and he stopped, his arms moving slowly to return the hug.

"I'm sorry, Taire," Enjolras muttered into Grantaire's chest, nuzzling deep into his shirt. "I shouldn't have yelled. I should have known better. I... I thought I'd lost you." He loosened his grip just enough to lean back and meet Grantaire's hazy gaze. "Don't ever scare me like that again."

Grantaire wove his fingers into Enjolras' barely tamed curled and cradled his cheek. He managed a small, crooked smile. "No promises, Apollo."

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a Kudos if you like it, a comment if you really like it, or pop over to [Tumblr](http://theblazeofmemory.tumblr.com/) to yell at me or maybe give me more prompts for more writing. Any and all these things feed the writer, just so you know.


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